“Well, well, what is the matter?”
“My poor master, sir—my lord, I mean—”
“What of him?”
“Had a fit, sir—the doctors are with him—my mistress—for my lord can’t speak—sent me express for you.”
“Lend me your horse—there, just lengthen the stirrups.”
While the groom was engaged at the saddle, Ferrers turned to Cesarini. “Do nothing rashly,” said he; “I would say, if I might, nothing at all, without consulting me; but mind, I rely, at all events, on your promise—your oath.”
“You may,” said Cesarini, gloomily.
“Farewell, then,” said Lumley, as he mounted; and in a few moments he was out of sight.